A Candle in the Darkness
by Pir8grl
Summary: Clara and the Doctor meet a purveyor of fairy tales during one of Europe's darkest times.
1. Chapter 1

**June 25, 1822**  
**Berlin, Brandenburg, Prussia**

The man known to the literary world as E.T.A. Hoffmann sighed querulously. He was quite fatigued. Although not so terribly old, his body was wracked by the effects of illness and life's struggles. Fanciful as it might seem, even for a purveyor of fairy tales, Herr Hoffmann sensed that tonight was the night he would be visited by the Angel of Death. He wondered how he would be remembered, or even if his name would outlast him.

His weary gaze traveled about the room and fell at last on one of his particular treasures. He wished he possessed the strength to pick up the small, bright blue wooden box just once more and look inside. He thought of calling for his wife to fetch him the box, but knew she'd dismiss his request as foolishness. Anyway, he knew what the it contained.

The front panel split open into two hinged doors, and tucked inside were two small porcelain dolls that he'd had specially commissioned. One was a man, dressed in a purple frock coat. The other was a lovely brunette lady gowned in white muslin with scarlet trim. They had encouraged him to keep writing his stories. They had told him that his words would live forever.

* * *

"So, where are we?" Clara asked.

"Earth. Dresden. 1813," the Doctor replied.

"Why, exactly?"

"Got some wonky readings. Thought it might be interesting," he replied offhandedly.

"As good a reason as any, I suppose," Clara chuckled.

"Why don't you pop along to the wardrobe and find something suitable to wear?"

Clara glanced down at her little red dress and clunky black boots and had to agree with him. As she set off down the corridor, something about the time and place niggled at the back of her mind.

* * *

"Took you long enough," the Doctor quipped, straightening up from the console at the sound of soft footsteps. "Blimey," he breathed.

"I'll take that to mean that this is suitable?" Clara laughed, twirling slightly to show off her gown.

It was soft white muslin, scattered with small scarlet flowers. A scarlet satin sash gathered the dress at the bosom. Her dark hair was smoothed into an elegant bun, but her eyes sparkled mischievously. In fact, the entire ensemble was an odd juxtaposition of Regency demure and twenty-first century spunk. It was very…_**Clara**_…the Doctor decided.

"Right then," he smiled warmly at her, extending his arm gallantly. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Clara replied, linking her arm with his as they stepped out into the city.

At first glance, it was the picture-postcard image of Old World charm. There were elegant, spired buildings and cobbled streets.

"What's that?" Clara asked, gesturing to a breathtaking domed structure that soared above all the other rooftops.

"That's the Frauenkirche. That particular version is about seventy years old now. Remarkable feat of Baroque architecture. We should come back and take a look some day. Well, someday before February 1945."

A prickle of disquiet disturbed Clara's thoughts as she drew her gaze away from the church's stunning façade and focused on their more immediate surroundings. They crossed what should have been a bustling market square, only to find it eerily empty. There were also piles of debris shoved into corners and some burned out shells of buildings. The silence was thick and unnerving. There were few people in the streets, and those appeared to be mostly men. They walked swiftly, with their heads down, pressing close against the fronts of the buildings.

Clara tightened her hold on the Doctor's arm uneasily. "Tell me again, exactly when and where are we?"

The Doctor stopped suddenly and slapped himself in the forehead. Once again, his idiotically insatiable curiosity had led him to barge into the middle of something without heed for the consequences. Yes, the anomalous readings were fascinating, but not worth exposing Clara to the horrific dangers about to descend upon this place.

"Thick. Thick, thick, thick!"

"That's not helping, you know," Clara chided.

"We've got to get out of here right away," the Doctor decided, spinning them about and heading back towards the TARDIS.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Clara, think. Continental Europe. 1813."

"The Napoleonic Wars?" Clara guessed, her stomach sinking in dread.

He didn't bother to answer, just wrapped his arm around her waist so his own momentum would help her move faster. And that was when the bombs started to fall.

Clara screamed, and the Doctor dragged her into the shelter of the nearest house, pressing her in against the wall, and sheltering her with his own body. Artillery fire continued to pound the city, shaking the ground and shattering glass. Clouds of dust billowed up and shrieks of pain cut the air.

Suddenly, the Doctor heard the scrape of a bolt being thrown and a man wrenched open the door of the house that they were leaning against.

"Are you crazy, man? Get inside!"

The Doctor pushed Clara inside, then helped the man to bolt the door and slide a heavy wooden table in front of it.

"What were you thinking, taking your wife outside today? Did you not know that the armistice was ended? The artillery is bad enough, but if those soldiers get loose inside the city!" He bit his lip sharply, recalling that he was speaking in the presence of a lady. "You must think of your wife's safety," he added, staring at the Doctor and hoping that his warning was understood.

It was, all too clearly. For once, neither Clara nor the Doctor uttered the automatic "But we're not -" They were both a bit too shaken to bother correcting their benefactor.

"You're quite right, of course," the Doctor replied, after taking a too-long moment to gather his wits. "I'm a doctor, you see, and I thought I might be of some use. My…er…wife often serves as my nurse."

"You must have missed the last bombardments. There will be scant need of physicians, I'm afraid. Only gravediggers. Forgive me. Ernst Hoffmann, at your service," he introduced himself, bowing politely to Clara, and noting absently that her frock seemed a bit fine for nursing.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is Clara."

Herr Hoffmann raised an eyebrow at the casual introduction. "Herr Doctor. Frau Clara," he intoned, bowing again.

"Ernst Hoffmann…not E.T.A. Hoffmann?" Clara asked.

"Indeed, madam. Writer and musician, by trade."

"I love your work!" she said enthusiastically.

"Not the best time, Clara," the Doctor muttered, nudging her gently.

"Once this is all over, I should be delighted to sit and discuss literature or music, or anything else you might fancy, Frau Clara, but for the moment, we must get to safety. My wife has taken shelter with the women and children in the Frauenkirche. It seemed the most secure place."

"What about you?" the Doctor asked.

"I wanted to try and secure my home, if at all possible. I was just gathering some important things. I think the downstairs kitchens are the safest place. " He quickly gathered stacks of papers and stuffed them into a leather satchel, along with a jingling coin purse. Looking a bit sheepish, he picked up a carved wooden nutcracker and weighed it in his hand, wondering if he could spare the space. "My late daughter's," he excused himself.

"It's lovely," Clara said.

"From Erzgebirge, isn't it?" the Doctor inquired.

"Indeed. It was my daughter's favorite plaything. I started to write a story about it for her, just a silly little fairy tale, really, but I lost interest in finishing it, after her death."

"Take it," Clara urged, with a sympathetic smile.

Herr Hoffmann smiled at her gratefully and stuffed the toy into the bag. "Let's get you both downstairs, where it's a bit safer," he said, as another barrage shook the city and plaster dust rained down on them.

There was another sound outside that caught the Doctor's attention.

"Right this way, Frau Clara," Herr Hoffmann was saying, as he politely ushered Clara towards a staircase. "Herr Doctor! Do come along!"

The Doctor raised his hand for silence. "Wait. D'you hear that?"

"I hear the sounds of battle," Herr Hoffmann said impatiently. "We must get your wife to safety!"

"No. I hear it too," Clara said. She frowned, and her eyes met the Doctor's. "I've heard that sound before. The night that all the shop window dummies came to life. But that's not possible!"

"No, it isn't possible, but we are, in fact, hearing the sound of Auton weaponry in early nineteenth century Dresden."

"What are you two going on about? We must get below stairs, quickly!"

The Doctor was prowling the windows, but they were shuttered from the outside. Finally, he found a broken pane and managed to fiddle the shutters open a crack and peek outside.

"Doctor? Is it…?" Clara asked.

"Yes," he replied simply. "Only one, near as I can tell."

"And what are we going to do about it?"

"It takes radio waves or intense heat to take down an Auton. Both are a possibility, but I need to get back to the TARDIS."

"Herr Doctor, I really must insist -" Herr Hoffmann interjected.

The Doctor turned back to Clara. Her face and dress were smudged with dirt and a few strands of hair had worked loose. She looked utterly beautiful to him. He reached out to gently wipe a bit of grime from her cheekbone with his thumb. "You should go with him, Clara."

"No! You don't leave me behind, mister. Not ever." It was a promise they'd made to one another, after Trenzalore.

"Bossy," he whispered affectionately.

"That's why you like me."

He wrapped his hand tightly around hers. "Don't let go."

"Never."

"Herr Doctor!"

Sighing, the Doctor turned back to their host. "Herr Hoffmann, thank you for your hospitality, but we really must be going."

"Sir, you cannot think to take a lady out there!"

"Try telling her that. Look, you write fairy tales. You've a fine imagination. Use it, and believe what I say. There's something outside that doesn't belong there. It's deadly dangerous and must be stopped."

"And how can a physician do that?"

"Well, when I say I'm the Doctor, I don't just mean that I'm a physician, although I am licensed to practice medicine in at least seven different solar systems. I'm a traveler, and I've encountered what's out there before, and I know how to stop it."

"There is artillery fire out there, Herr Doctor, and when that is through, there will be soldiers with rifles and bayonets. I do not need to imagine anything worse."

"That's all right," the Doctor said kindly. "Stay here, and when it's all over, write about it, so that people know what happened here. Who knows? Maybe, someday, you lot will finally learn from your own history. Bar the door again, after we leave."

"What exactly is it that you think is out there?" Herr Hoffmann asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"It's a sort of mechanical person, and it doesn't belong here."

"You are mad, sir!"

The Doctor smiled crookedly as he unbarred the door. "You're hardly the first to think so. Take care of yourself, Herr Hoffmann. The world needs your stories. Come along, Clara."

* * *

The artillery fire seemed to have paused for the moment, but the Doctor hustled Clara along as quickly as possible, just the same.

"How did an Auton end up here?" she wanted to know. "And why is there only one? That night, back home, there were hundreds of them."

"My best guess - and generally, my best guesses are spot on - is that it's detritus from the Time War. A single Auton, fallen through a crack in time and space. Wouldn't be the first time it happened. It can't replicate itself in any way, because there's no other plastic here."

"Because it hasn't been invented yet."

"Herr Doctor! Wait!"

Clara and the Doctor turned to see Herr Hoffmann running after them. His satchel was slung across his chest and there was a pistol tucked into his belt.

"Here," he puffed, draping a nondescript grey cloak over Clara's shoulders and pulling up the hood to cover her hair. "It's safer if she's not so obvious."

"Thank you," the Doctor said gratefully.

"And this is for you." He pulled a spare pistol from his satchel.

"No," the Doctor said firmly. "Those are no use against what we're fighting."

"But they are of use against soldiers, or common ruffians. I must insist."

"And I must refuse."

There was a flicker of something hard and unyielding and _**ancient**_ in the depths of the Doctor's green eyes that made Herr Hoffmann stop. "Then I shall accompany you."

The Doctor started to protest, but Clara laid a hand on his arm. "Herr Hoffmann knows his way around the city," she reminded him. "What if we need to hide or find a back way into someplace?"

"Clever girl," he said affectionately. "All right then! Come along, Ernst. You don't mind if I call you Ernst, do you?"

"Er…well…"

"Splendid! Off we go!"


	2. Chapter 2

They made their way through the city, back to the TARDIS.

"And what is this, exactly?" Herr Hoffmann asked, eyeing the bright blue wooden box.

"It's, er, a shed where I keep my supplies," the Doctor replied. "Clara, will you be all right out here with Ernst while I fetch what I need?"

"Of course."

"I'll be as quick as I can," he promised.

"We'll be fine," Clara said, with a reassuring smile.

She sat down on a wooden crate to wait. Herr Hoffmann sat on the ground next to her.

"I've never seen a lady so calm in the face of war," he said admiringly.

"You get used to things, traveling with the Doctor."

"And where is it that you have traveled from?"

"I'm from London," Clara hedged.

"England! So very far away. I think, someday, when the world is at peace, I should like to journey there."

"Why did you come after us?" Clara asked curiously.

"As I said Frau Clara, to keep you safe."

"Just 'Clara' is fine."

"Are all English so informal?"

Clara laughed at that, a lovely, delighted burble of laughter. "Tell me about your story," she prompted, "the one you started to write for your daughter." She was fairly sure she knew which one it was, but wanted to hear it in his own words.

"It's just a foolish little fairy tale for the little ones, about the toys coming to life on Christmas Eve."

"It sounds wonderful. You should finish it."

"The world is too dark a place for fairy stories."

"Not at all, Ernst," the Doctor said quietly. Neither had heard him slip out of the TARDIS. "When the world is at its darkest, that's when people most need to believe in fairies and magic and bravery and true love and all of those wonderful things you like to write about. That's why stories like yours live on."

"Who are you?" Ernst Hoffmann stared in disbelief at this madman who'd emerged from the blue wooden box clutching an odd mechanical device in his hands. "And what is that?"

"I'm the Doctor. And the technical term for this is a whatsit."

* * *

"How are we going to find the Auton?" Clara asked.

"I took a moment to use the TARDIS's scanners. It's heading towards the northwest part of the city," the Doctor replied.

"Herr Doctor, Murat's forces were sighted to the northwest," Herr Hoffmann told him urgently.

"Marshall Murat will have quite enough Austrian soldiers to occupy his attention. We'll be fine."

"How do you know these things?"

"I have my sources." He glanced back at their new friend and his face relaxed into an open, boyish grin. "Trust me. I'm the Doctor."

"Will you at least take the other pistol?"

"No," the Doctor answered shortly. "I don't like guns. Too easy to hurt too many people. Don't like them," he repeated.

"And yet you carry that…device."

"This won't hurt anything but the Auton. And it must be dealt with. It doesn't belong here."

"I do not understand you, Doctor."

"You get used to it," Clara said soothingly.

"What is that?" Herr Hoffmann cried, pointing to a strangely smooth-countenanced, man-like creature that moved with an odd, shambling, gait.

"That would be the Auton," the Doctor informed him grimly, fiddling with the device he held.

"That is your mechanical man? It looks…broken."

"It is. Be very grateful for that. It might take me a few moments to find the correct frequency." The Doctor aimed his impromptu piece of machinery at the Auton. Lights flickered and the apparatus whined, but the Auton continued to shuffle forward, unharmed.

"It's getting closer, Doctor," Clara told him nervously.

"Yes, thank you. I can see that," he ground out from between clenched teeth as he twisted dials and changed settings.

This time, the Auton focused its incurious gaze on the Doctor and shambled in his direction.

Herr Hoffman raised his pistol and fired at it.

"Bullets won't work!" the Doctor yelled, changing settings yet again.

The Auton raised its arm, and they could see that the front part of the fingers was gone, broken away, but the barrel of its weapon was clearly visible.

Clara glanced around quickly and stooped to gather a few pieces of broken brick from the pavement. Her first throw barely glanced off the Auton's head, but the second hit the arm with enough force to deflect the shot aimed at the Doctor. Seconds later, the Doctor managed to find the right frequency, and the Auton slumped, looking to Ernst Hoffmann's startled eyes, almost exactly like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The Doctor dropped his jury-rigged radio transmitter, which by now was emitting smoke and sparks. "Is everyone all right? Clara?"

"I'm fine," she said, smiling for him.

"Ernst?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Doctor, what was that, exactly? May I examine it?"

"No. I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea at all. It needs to be incinerated. I'm not entirely sure how to-"

A strange high-pitched whistling sound filled the air.

"Doctor, look out!" Clara screamed, surging forward and tackling him with surprising strength.

The force of the bomb that exploded in the street sent them tumbling into the wall of the nearest building. The Doctor clutched Clara tightly in his arms, trying desperately to shield her. He lay still for a long moment after the impact. Finally, he struggled somewhat upright against the wall, his ears ringing. He coughed roughly, dispelling the choking dust from his lungs.

"All right, Clara? Clara!"

She lay limp in his arms, with a trickle of blood oozing from a small cut on her temple.

"Nonono…Clara!" He checked her pulse with his fingertips, relieved to find it strong and steady, then fumbled out the sonic to scan her, not caring who might see.

After a few moments, which seemed an eternity to the Doctor, Clara coughed weakly and her eyelids fluttered.

"That's it," he crooned softly, "come on back to me."

"Did we do it?" she whispered breathlessly.

"Do what, Clara?"

"Save the world?"

He laughed at that, and kissed her mouth softly, then rested his forehead against hers, giddy with relief. "Yes, we did." After a moment, he raised his head and looked around. "Ernst?"

"I'm here, Doctor. Is she all right?"

"Right as rain," the Doctor said happily, as he gently lifted Clara to her feet.

"What about the Auton?" she asked, still clutching his arm for support.

"I believe it was right there, Frau Clara," Herr Hoffmann informed her, pointing to a smoking crater in the center of the street.

The Doctor scanned the crater with the sonic. "Not a trace," he said, with satisfaction. He smiled at Clara, wrapping his arm tightly around her. "Come on, let's get you home so I can see to that bump on your head."

She nodded, resting her aching head against his shoulder as they started to walk back towards the TARDIS.

"You are most welcome to return to my house until this over," Herr Hoffmann offered.

"That's very kind, Ernst, but we really should be going."

"Going? Going where? How? The city is still under siege."

"I have my ways," the Doctor said enigmatically.

"Are all English so mysterious?" Herr Hoffmann wondered.

"I'm not English."

"Then what are you?"

"Told you," the Doctor replied cheekily, "I'm a traveler. That's all you really need to know."

They'd arrived back at the TARDIS, now.

"Where will you go?" Herr Hoffmann asked, puzzled.

"Anywhere. Perhaps even everywhere. Come along, Clara."

"Goodbye," she said, smiling as she stepped inside.

"I've never met anyone like you," Herr Hoffman marveled.

"I'd be surprised if you had." When the Doctor spoke again, his voice was more serious. "Remember what I told you, Ernst…stories like yours are the light in dark places. Be sure you go on telling them for as long as you can."

"I will, Doctor," he promised.

The Doctor stepped inside the small blue box, and as Herr Hoffmann watched in amazement, a strange noise filled the air, and the box faded out of sight.

* * *

Ernst Hoffmann pulled his daughter's nutcracker from his satchel and turned it in his hands, lost in thought. The initial idea of the story, of the toys coming to life on Christmas Eve, was a charming little thing for children, but it needed something more to make it compelling. A madcap inventor, perhaps. A man who seemed at once young and old, able to construct any type of device at whim. A brave and beautiful heroine. And mechanical people…he definitely liked that idea. He pulled out his journal, ink, and pen and began to write.

* * *

**1880**  
**Paris, France**

Jacques Offenbach sighed as he laid down his pen. He wanted so desperately to see this one, final work premiere in the theatre, but his body betrayed him. He'd worked so long on this piece, a tribute to the genius and imagination of E.T.A. Hoffmann, featuring the Hoffmann himself as the hero, as well as his signature life-sized clockwork dolls. Offenbach had often wondered just how Hoffmann had managed to dream those up.

* * *

**1888**  
**St. Petersburg, Russia**

Marius Petipa carefully considered the commission before him. A libretto for a new ballet by Tchaikovsky. Something magical and fanciful, to match the success of "The Sleeping Beauty." He carefully scanned the bookcases in his study, seeking inspiration. His gaze settled on a French translation of "The Nutcracker and the Mouse King." He smiled and took the book over to his desk.

* * *

**1974**  
**New York, New York**

George Balanchine contemplated his company's upcoming season. "The Nutcracker" had rapidly established itself as the mainstay of the budget, so why not another great classic? "Coppelia," perhaps. He could utilize his current favorite ballerina, and there would be another splendid Hoffmann character for Shaun O'Brien to portray.

* * *

"So, where are we?" Clara asked.

"Earth Colony 395. Early 63rd Century," the Doctor replied.

"Why, exactly?"

"The ballet."

"The ballet," Clara repeated.

"Indeed. We are going to see the Ballet Company of Drassillus Major performing "The Nutcracker."

Clara looked up at him with shining eyes. "So, Hoffmann's work really does live forever."

"Well, nothing quite lasts forever, Clara, but yes, as close to it as makes no difference."

They strolled arm in arm out of the TARDIS and into the foyer of the theatre. An usher guided them to their seats and presented them with an electronic program.

"Look," the Doctor said softly, pointing to the list of characters.

Clara smiled as she realized that this was one of the productions where the young heroine was named 'Clara.' The house lights dimmed and she settled back in her seat to enjoy the show, one hand loosely twined with the Doctor's.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_ This was initially conceived as a sort of Christmas fairy tale, but it got a bit dark somewhere along the journey. Perhaps that's fitting, since most of the old German fairy tales are rather darker at the source than modern audiences are accustomed to.

Thank you to Friendship-Bravery-Soufflés for listening to the initial batches of babble that eventually turned into this story.

* * *

_**Historical Notes:**_ While the dates of original productions, deaths, and major historical events are correct, this is a work of fiction. A great deal of artistic license was exercised in attributing motivations for the creation of works of art and literature.

Erzgebirge is an area of Germany renowned for wooden folk art, particularly nutcrackers.

The Frauenkirche was a domed church that dominated the skyline of Dresden until its destruction during World War II. (It has recently been rebuilt, using many of the original stones.) Thank you to Ciliegiacara for that piece of information. 


End file.
